


Swayed to Music

by Laylah



Category: Last Remnant
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:45:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You'll need to be able to move <i>with</i> your partner, to dance well," David says; he should have spent more time thinking about how to explain. "Together, not simply going through the same motions."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swayed to Music

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Stars Are Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7181) by [Laylah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah). 



"I don't know, it sounds like kind of a big deal," Rush says, when he hears about the plans for the gala. He shifts his weight awkwardly, looking at David as if he needs reassurance. The mere fact that he waited to bring up the subject until they were alone is evidence enough of that.

David smiles at him gently. "The occasion _is_ rather a 'big deal,'" he points out. "Surely it won't be the most arduous task you've undertaken." He frowns. "I would have thought, given your parents' prominence in the Academy, that you might already be familiar with this sort of thing."

Rush shrugs. "Mostly me and Irina were on Eulam, so we didn't have to go to a lot of the formal stuff," he says. "Besides, that was about my mom and dad, not me."

"But they aren't the heroes of this war," David says. "You are." He takes Rush's hand and squeezes once. "The people of Athlum are grateful. They -- _we_ \-- want to celebrate. It won't be so bad, will it?"

"Well," Rush says, grinning. "When you put it like that."

And that seems to be the end of the conversation, at least until the tailor has been called in to fit Rush with his new clothes for the event. A messenger has to be dispatched across the castle to call for David's assistance.

"I'm just saying, I'm going to look ridiculous," Rush is explaining when David arrives. It sounds as though he's been trying to make the same point for some time.

"What's the trouble?" David asks.

Rush's face brightens. "Dave!" he says. "Look, um. It's really nice of you have them make me a new outfit for this and everything, but seriously, you want me in this red and blue stuff? It's going to look awful on me."

David tries to contain his smile; the tailor is knotting her fingers nervously together, mouth drawn into a qsiti approximation of a frown. "I know they aren't the colors you might have chosen for yourself," he says; he's rather fond of Rush's black and purple himself. "I wished to make a statement about your allegiances -- we will have representatives in attendance from several of the dukedoms, and selfishly I would like for them to see you unmistakably in Athlum's colors."

"Oh," Rush says. He puts his hands on his hips and frowns thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, how about if you wear one color and I wear the other, then?"

"That...would certainly be an unmistakable statement," David says. And yet Rush suggests it so easily, as though there's no uncertainty at all. "Particularly on the dance floor."

Rush looks alarmed. "What?" he says.

"There will be dancing, after the banquet," David reminds him. "I'm afraid we will be expected to participate."

"I don't know how to dance," Rush says.

"Ah." He should have considered that, David thinks. "I'm sure you will have no trouble picking it up. Your skill in learning -- ah, other things," he says, remembering they have an audience, "has been admirable. If you will cooperate and allow Madam Merthia to take your measurements, I would be happy to give you a dance lesson or two myself."

Rush laughs. "Really? Sweet," he says. "I'll hold you to that."

"I look forward to it," David assures him. He nods to the tailor. "Madam, if you would. Rush will take the azure, and I --" he hesitates a moment; there has been someone else rather notably wearing red lately -- "I will wear the scarlet. Both trimmed in white, please."

The tailor bows low enough that her ears nearly touch the floor. "Of course, my lord."

They will need music, of course; the crucial difference between dancing and combat is learning to time one's movements to music rather than to the rhythms of unscripted motion. David hunts through the castle's visistone collection until he finds a recording of a string quartet performing a well-known piece. The recording lasts only a few minutes, but the stone can be programmed to repeat, and even, with some tinkering, to play its sound recording without the distraction of the images.

He hunts Rush down after dinner, finds them an unoccupied salle to practice in: something less intimidating than the broad expanse of the ball room, but less cluttered with furniture than his -- their -- technically _his_ bedroom. Rush watches him set up the visistone, raises an eyebrow when he takes off his coat.

"You want me to start stripping, too?" Rush asks, his mouth twitching as he struggles to contain a smile.

David does his best to keep a straight face himself. "Oh, not at all," he says. "There won't be any call for that sort of dancing at the gala."

Rush bursts out in startled laughter, and David feels warmth blossom in his chest; making Rush happy is no less a pleasure for how easily he manages it these days. "Okay, fine," Rush says. "I'll keep my pants on. We can try it your way."

"All right," David says, his face warming slightly despite himself. The idea of watching Rush strip -- it's nothing he hasn't seen, but there's something about the idea of it being a show, put on just for him.... He coughs, shaking his head to clear the thought away, and holds out one hand. "Come here."

"Okay," Rush says, and puts his hand in David's.

"You'll need to be able to move _with_ your partner, to dance well," David says; he should have spent more time thinking about how to explain. "Together, not simply going through the same motions."

Rush nods. "I think I can do that," he says.

"I'm certain of it," David answers. "Put your free hand on my shoulder -- yes, good. Then my other hand goes here," he says, resting it against Rush's waist. "We'll be moving, generally, in the direction of our outstretched hands, but the leading partner's direction is mostly communicated with this touch."

"Do you get to lead automatically because you're the marquis?" Rush asks. "Or do I get to try once I've got the hang of it?"

David blinks. "I -- you know, when I was learning to dance, I don't think it ever occurred to my instructors that I might at some point need to follow someone else's lead." He squeezes Rush's hand. "But I am sure you will be quite capable, once you've had a bit of practice. Here, listen to the music for a moment, and let's begin."

It's easier said than done. Rush isn't clumsy by any means; he has no trouble moving in time with the music, and he doesn't step on David's foot even once. But he is rather _close_, and while it's quite possible to dance with respectable distance between partners, the space between them vanishes whenever David stops actively trying to maintain it. There is a particular scent that Rush carries with him, something bright and wild like the wind that sweeps through the ravines at Dillmoor; that it has grown familiar to David seems only to make it more captivating. He sweeps them across the room, following the lilt of the music, trying to keep his mind on the steps. It's good practice for when they have an audience to watch them.

"I think I'm getting the hang of it," Rush says after a few minutes. "Let me try?"

David smiles. "Please," he says. It feels strange, settling his hand on Rush's shoulder and allowing himself to be led, but less strange than it might with anyone else. Rush moves confidently, the pressure of his hand at David's waist firm but never excessive.

They make a few more passes around the room before Rush stops. "So, what do you think? I shouldn't embarrass you too badly, huh?"

"Indeed not," David says. "I'm going to be rather tempted to show off, I fear." He takes the lead position again. "Here, follow me."

He starts across the room again, and this time demonstrates some of the spins and pivots that give life to the dance. Rush is slightly off-balance at first, but he recovers quickly, leaning into it as David twirls him, laughing as he spins outward and lets himself be reeled back in -- and in, too close for dancing, for anything like propriety. They do not collide, only meet each other smoothly, arms sliding around each other without hesitation as Rush leans in still smiling for a kiss. His hands tangle in David's hair and his mouth is warm, hungry; the kiss makes David's heart race, too fast and too wild for the civilized beat of the music, and it's a long moment before he can bring himself to pull away.

"That last move," he says, breathless, "is not generally performed at formal occasions."

"I think I can restrain myself," Rush says. He grins. "Probably."

Even should he fail, David thinks -- even should they scandalize the entire gathering -- he's not sure he can bring himself to mind.


End file.
